Riding the Scary-Go-Round

It happened today. I finally mastered the revolving doors of my office building.

I can still remember what it was like those first few days. There is a terrible kind of coordination one must have to enter these things and arrive out the other side safely. Unfortunately, apart from when I dance, I tend toward utter gracelessness. Needless to say, I looked at this mobile monster with no less dread than if it was the centrifuge ride at the county fair. I mean, what if I got stuck in there and found myself running round in tight circles like a dog chasing its tail for hours on end?

I'd begin by looking both ways, trying to make sure no one would witness my ridiculous (but sadly necessary) approach to this entryway. Then I'd grab my bag close to me, steel myself for any impending impact, take two steps back to get a running start...and be off!

Preparations and prayers aside, whether or not me and my bag both made it through without being pinched, clamped or thrown against the glass was all up to the will of the revolver gods. On a good day, I'd trip along within that tiny triangular frame of space and stumble out with the smallest amount of dignity in tact.

But today I wasn't paying attention and what happened was amazing. My ipod earbuds in, my stride confident, I simply walked right on through those doors in perfect subconscious timing...and shot out the other side with no problem at all. In fact, I even continued right on walking toward the elevators without missing a beat - a pretty spectacular feat if I do say so myself.

They say if you can make it in New York you can make it anywhere. Well now I can at least make it through the front doors so I'm sure I'm well on my way. This is how a New Yorker goes through a revolving door...

Christmess in New York

I've watched enough Christmas in New York movies to have a pretty skewed version of the holiday season here in my head. What I imagined were merry passersby freely passing out "Seasons Greetins!" to their fellow shoppers. Beautiful banks of pure-white snow giving a magical glow to the picturesque scenery. Why, certainly even the cabbies would be all smiles and warm wishes too.

What I discovered was quite different, but in the end no less Christmassy.

Shopping is an absolute free-for-all frenzy here. You fight your way through narrowed aisles and crowded lines only to hunt down overpriced items. And God forbid your store doesn't have what you're looking for. Because that means you have to drag all your bags with you onto the subway where you will be consequently bumped and prodded by everyone else's bags and boxes. Eventually, I gave up and settled for expedited shipping and online shopping. In the comfort of my own home, I sat by the lights of my little tree and sipped cocoa on my couch. Cozy as could be.

But those beautiful banks of snow you can forget about. By hour four, they've turned into brown slush. What's more, the areas between the sidewalks turn into full-on booby traps. Oh they may look like concrete, innocently shining with rain. But one step into it and you're ankle-deep in freezing cold water. You learn to cautiously tap your toes against every surface like a cat batting at a tub of water.

On one of these fine days, I went out for lunch and battled three sidewalks in the blizzarding sleet just to get a sandwich. Just before embarking on the last one, this old black woman and I eyed each other warily. We were of course hoping we'd both make it across. But if one of us happened to fall, it better be the other one. As we precariously tip-toed and zig-zagged our way across the street, we finally both found solid purchase and sighed a simultaneous, "Whew!" As our eyes met again, we laughed together knowingly (and with no small amount of relief). Kindred spirits in the spirit of a New York Christmas, we went on our separate ways.

I always wondered where in the hell people get their Christmas trees here. But like with garbage, old TVs and used mattresses you find them where everything else is - on the sidewalks. I used to love going out to the little tree farms set up in our neighborhood in Georiga. Walking among the stands, finding the perfect one. So I was horrified at first to learn that they'd be stacked up on the streets on every Duane Reade, Rite-Aid and CVS street corner. But it actually wasn't horrific at all. Every few blocks you're stunned by the beauty of naturally snow-flocked trees. And a wave of fresh pine scent floats around you as the slimmed sidewalks force you closer to other people. And though people still won't say Merry Christmas, they will smile warmly at you. After all, Christmas in New York may be a mess...but it's our mess. And it can be quite charming when it wants to be.